


High In A Blue Sky

by CrunchyWrites



Series: Learning on Parameters (aka Caleb Widogast Deserves Nice Things) [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Critical Role (Wildemount Campaign)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, The most fluff I have ever written, i hope you have dental care because this /will/ give you cavitiies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14481978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchyWrites/pseuds/CrunchyWrites
Summary: They're not quite the drugs from Trostenwald, but all things considered that's probably a good thing.---a.k.a Molly, Jester, and Beau do some experimenting, and Caleb receives an awful lot of love from a very affectionate purple tiefling.





	1. Chapter 1

They stand around the bag in a loose semi-circle, staring down at it as if it might explode at a moment’s notice. For all they know, it might.

Beau is the first to speak.

“So…” she says, “How do we take it?”

Silence.

“I mean,” she continues, “I mean, if we wanna see what this shit does we have to take it first. Anyone got any bright ideas?”

“We could smoke it?” Jester suggests.

“Yeah, we could- we could smoke it. Does it look smokeable?”

As one, they turn to look at the bag. The bag remains a bag, and gives no indication of if its contents are smokeable or not. Molly, mulling over the issue himself, has no idea how to take the drug at all, but he knows that one thing is going to have to change before they find out.

“… Well, one of us has to open the bag first,” he says eventually, and Jester and Beau turn to look at him.

“…Damn,” Beau says after a while, “You’re fucking right. Gods, you’re a genius.”

“I live to impress.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that,” Beau says flippantly, and she steps to the side a little and gestures at the bag, looking over at Molly. “Want to do the honours?”

Molly ponders it for all of two seconds. “Sure,” he says, “Why not.” He reaches out, undoes the little string tie, and lets the bag fall open. Sitting within is a surprisingly neat little pile of powder, white save for a faint blue sheen that Molly only notices when he tilts his head. It looks innocuous enough, looks almost like it could pass for salt or sugar at a glance, but Molly is pretty certain that he wouldn’t want to put any of it in his food.

Well… not now, at least.

Besides, he’s got no idea if just straight-up _eating_ the powder would give the desired effect.

“So…” Molly says slowly, “I know I bought it but… do any of us actually know to take this?”

“Let me take a look at it!” Beau says immediately, and she dabs her finger into the powder without hesitation, lifts it up to the light and looks at it with a frown. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, alright…” She rubs her fingers together, watches as the dust smears into invisibility. “Alright,” she says, “Interesting…” She rubs her fingers together again, wipes them on her trousers, and then turns to look at Jester and Molly who are both watching her expectantly. “I have _no idea_ how to take this stuff,” she says, and both their faces fall.

“Then what was all that with the… the looking at it?” Molly asks. Beau shrugs.

“I don’t know, dude. I’ve just seen people do that before.”

“Oh?” Jester butts in. “Which people? Where?”

“Y’know… shady people. I know shady people. I’ve seen shady things.”

“You’ve seen shady things but not this?” Molly asks.

“Hey, I don’t know _every_ drug out there!”

“Maybe not, but you kind of gave the impression you knew this one.”

Beau grins. “Nah,” she says, “I was just messing with you.”

Molly can’t help it: he grins right back at her. “It fucking worked,” he says, and Beau grins wider and sidesteps to swing her shoulder into his in what was probably intended to be a nudge but ended up more like a slam.

“Cheers, man!” she says, and Molly tries not to flinch at the brief burst of pain that radiates through his arm when her shoulder smashes into it.

“You’re welcome,” he says weakly, and reaches up to rub at his shoulder the moment Beau turns back to look at the powder. Fucking _ow_.

“So you don’t know how to take this?” he hears Jester asking, and looks over to see her crouched down beside the powder, peering at it closely.

“No fuckin’ idea,” Beau replies.

“Damn,” Jester murmurs, “I don’t have any idea either.”

Molly does.

“We could put it on our gums,” he suggests, and Beau turns and gapes at him.

“ _What_?”

“Put it on our gums,” Molly repeats, with all the false confidence of a person who has taken drugs at least one, and possibly two times in their life and definitely knows what they’re doing. And he _does_ know what he’s doing, for a given amount of ‘know’. “It happens. It’s done.”

“Does it even _work_?” Beau asks.

“Oh, yeah,” he assures, “Absolutely. It dissolves into the membrane and gets into your bloodstream that way. Or something like that. It’s been a while.”

“Huh,” Beau says, and gives a pointed look towards the bag. “So, you gonna…?”

Molly sighs. “I suppose I must,” he says, and approaches the little mound of powder. “You- you dab it on your finger, like this, and then you lift up your lip, like this, and then you-“

Beau and Jester watch silently as Molly rubs the drug against his gum, and then pulls a face.

“Eurgh,” he says, grimacing, “That is- that is _not_ the most pleasant thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.” He pauses. “Not the worst, either.”

“Do you feel anything?” Jester asks impatiently, rising from her crouch, and Molly shakes his head. He doesn’t feel anything at all. On the contrary; he feels absolutely fine.

“No,” he says, and Jester pouts, “Nothing.”

“Hmm,” Jester says, “Maybe we should- I suppose we could _snort_ it, or I heard of some drugs that you’re meant to put up your butt, or we could-“

“ _Oh_ ,” Molly says abruptly, cutting Jester off mid-ramble. “Oh, _wow_. Nevermind.”

_Wow_.

Oh, yeah, he’s feeling it now, whatever it is.

“Wow,” he says again, and blinks. The sunlight gets trapped between his eyelashes, blurring out over his vision before suddenly turning everything crystal-bright and _beautiful_. “Holy shit,” he mutters, and then lifts a hand to his mouth as he giggles. “Holy _shit_!”

“What?” Jester demands instantly, “What is it? Is it working?”

“Oh, it’s working alright,” Molly replies, and then he looks at her and giggles again. She’s so… _blue_. She’s _so_ blue. Blue hair and blue skin and sure, her clothing isn’t blue, but when he blinks the blue smudges out across her and turns to a thousand shades of teal and aquamarine and navy and turquoise and then she’s just blue all over, a big shifting, shimmering, vaguely tiefling-like form that still manages to be _Jester_.

And then he blinks again, and Jester is looking at him wide-eyed, barely a foot in front of his face.

“What is it?” she asks, “Why are you laughing so much?”

“You’re _blue_ ,” Molly manages to say, and then he’s lost to the giggles all over again.

Distantly, he thinks he hears Jester and Beau talking about something, but he’s not quite sure – whenever he looks over at them to try to figure out what they’re talking about he gets distracted again, because Jester is blue and Beau is blue and Beau sounds like blue and this close to Jester she’s a blue Beau and _that_ just sounds like bluebell and huh, he wonders if there are bluebells outside, because it’s spring so there _must_ be flowers and if there _are_ flowers then he’s going to find some and bring them to-

_Caleb_.

Molly _has_ to find Caleb. Immediately. He feels like there’s sunlight in his veins and stardust in his blood, turning everything soft and golden and bright and _beautiful_ and he has to share it with Caleb. He _needs_ to share it with Caleb, because Caleb is so often sad or down or anxious or uncertain and Molly loves him with all his heart and he wants Caleb to feel how he’s feeling because he’s feeling _good_.

He’s feeling really, really exceptional, and he wants to take this feeling and encase Caleb in it because despite what Caleb may say and what he may think Molly knows, more certainly than he’s ever known anything else, that Caleb deserves to feel like this. That Caleb deserves to feel this loose and floaty and _good_. But he also knows Caleb, and he knows that there’s no way that Caleb will ever be willing to sample the drug again with him; Caleb’s spoken to Molly a handful of times about how much he struggles already to know what to do in social situations and how he sometimes makes himself concerned that drinking too much or taking any sort of otherwise perception-altering substance will only make that harder. Molly doesn’t want to make anything worse for Caleb. Molly doesn’t want to make Caleb uncomfortable, _ever_ , which means that simply offering Caleb to partake in the drug with him is out of the question.

And if Molly can’t make Caleb feel as good as he’s feeling by the most direct route then he’s simply going to do the next best thing, which is clearly to find Caleb and tell him in great depth and detail just how wonderful he is. That sounds like a plan. That sounds like an _excellent_ plan. Molly is going to find his boyfriend and do his level best to give him as much love and affection in whatever form Caleb feels like receiving it today, and he’s going to kiss him and hug him and cuddle him and remind him that he’s wonderful and exceptional and _good_ , and then he might just kiss him again.

God damn, but Beau was right. Molly _is_ a genius.

“I’ve gotta go,” he mutters to the room in general, and doesn’t check to see if Beau and Jester heard him before he’s turning tail and speed-walking the short distance from their room to Caleb’s. It’s a journey of only a few yards or so but it already feels like much too far – every extra inch of distance he has to cover is another inch that’s keeping him separated from Caleb, and his limbs are _mostly_ co-operating with him but not entirely and time is beginning to feel a little flickery around the edges of his mind and when he finally arrives in front of Caleb’s door he’s not _entirely_ sure of how much time has actually passed. He’s assuming not very much, because that just makes sense, but the uncertainty is still there. He reaches out, fumbles with the doorknob for a second, eventually manages to figure it out, opens the door, and promptly freezes.

Holy shit.

Holy _shit_.

Molly has seen some beautiful things in his time. He’s _wearing_ some beautiful things, has them hung from his horns and his ears and pierced through his skin and his skin itself is adorned with beautiful inks and he knows that his coat, strange and erratic and patchwork as it is, could still be considered beautiful but all of a sudden that beauty seems… different. Not lesser, because beauty is still beauty, but _different_ , because now Molly has an entirely new type of beauty to consider, and that beauty is Caleb.

Gods above, but he’s so, so beautiful.

It’s not particularly late in the day, and the sunlight streaming in through the open window is burnishing Caleb’s hair in shades of copper and amber and gold, painting sharp dark shadows across his face and catching on the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw. Caleb’s eyes are already such a beautiful shade of blue to begin with (and _wow_ , but everything today seems to be to do with blue; blue Jester and blue Beau and now blue Caleb) but in the sunlight they seem _alive_ , sharp and clever and illuminated from within.

Molly blinks, and the sunlight gets caught in his lashes again, and somehow Caleb looks even _better_.

He looks like he belongs on the cover of one of Jester’s romance novels. No, scratch that- he looks like he belongs in an art gallery, amongst other equally beautiful and expensive things, looks like he’s some painter's great final masterpiece that they finished and then vowed never to paint again afterwards because they knew they would never be able to create something as beautiful as Caleb.

It’s unfair. It’s _cheating_. Molly is fairly certain that it should be _illegal_ to be this fucking attractive, because it’s making it really, really, _really_ hard for him to focus on anything _but_ Caleb and yeah, he came here with the explicit intent of finding Caleb and loving on him until Caleb accepted that he deserves to be loved but the fact still remains that Caleb is being obnoxiously attractive right now. And it’s not- it’s not like Caleb’s even _trying_ to be attractive, which somehow makes it simultaneously better and worse. Molly knows Caleb, and he knows that Caleb very genuinely _does not know_ how gorgeous he is, and it absolutely baffles Molly. Because he’s- he’s _stunning_. He spends most of his time covered in dirt and grime and muck but even with mud masking his features he’s still unbelievably attractive, and now that they’re getting him in the habit of taking regular baths he’s just getting hotter.

And he has _no idea_.

Caleb knows that Molly’s attracted to him, but he’s expressed time and time again his confusion as to _why_. As far as he’s concerned he’s just Caleb; he’s just a wizard in a tattered cloak and old boots who doesn’t know how to handle some social situations and struggles with eye contact more often than not. He’s not bedecked with gold and jewels the same way Molly is, doesn’t have impressive muscles like Yasha or Jester. He’s just Caleb.

It’s sad. It’s unspeakably sad. Caleb is beautiful and stunning and gorgeous and attractive and _beautiful_ and Molly really, really doesn’t have enough words to describe him in common or in infernal or in any other language that he may have picked up and it’s _terrible_ because Molly needs to create a glossary of everything that Caleb is so that he can press it into his hands in the place of one of his spellbooks and tell him to read it and have Caleb finally, _finally_ understand that his past doesn’t matter and that he is worthy of as much love and adoration and affection as Molly is capable of giving him and yet more beyond that. The fact that he _can’t_ do any of that is the saddest goddamn thing that Molly has _ever_ realised.

He thinks he could fucking _cry_ , and it’s only through sheer force of will that he doesn’t, and instead convinces his suddenly rather wobbly legs to carry him across the room so that he can lie himself down across the bed, place his head on Caleb’s lap, and look up at him.

And then he really thinks that he might cry, because Caleb looks even better up close.

Molly’s aware that _words_ are happening but he’s not really paying attention to them – why would he, when he’s got Caleb to look at? He’s vaguely aware that staring up his boyfriend’s nostrils probably isn’t the best way to look at him, but he doesn’t care because they’re Caleb’s nostrils, and therefore he likes them. They’re also attached to Caleb’s nose, which makes him like them even more, which is in turn attached to Caleb’s face, which Molly is an undeniable fan of, which is itself attached to Caleb’s body and oh dear Gods, but he’s actually going to start crying if he thinks about Caleb’s body too much because it is perfect and wonderful and Molly is allowed to _touch_ it.

All of Caleb is perfect. Every last little bit. His hair is perfect and his nose is perfect and his eyes are so perfect that Molly, in his delightfully drug-addled state, actually contemplates learning how to write sonnets just so that he can wax poetic about their beauty on paper and have it immortalised forever. Caleb’s entire _face_ is perfect, and his fingers are fiddling absently with the little ribbon bookmark of his book and his _fingers_ are perfect too, his hands in general are, and his wrists are fine and elegant and his arms are perfect and his freckles are so wonderful Molly thinks that he could very easily spend a day finding and kissing every last one, and then Caleb looks down at him and Molly feels his breath catch in his throat.

“Hi, Caleb,” he says, lovesick and loving, and smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

When Molly saunters over where Caleb’s sitting reading at the edge of the bed and flops down across his legs, rolling onto his back so that he’s gazing up at Caleb with a decidedly lovelorn expression on his face, the first thing Caleb does is sigh, and look over at Yasha.

“Did he…?”

Yasha looks down at Molly, looks back up at Caleb, and nods. “Yup.”

“And the others…?”

Yasha tilts her head for a second as if listening to something, and then crosses to the window and looks out of it. “Jester’s outside telling Fjord how pretty he is in the sunlight and Beau’s complimenting the flowers and handing them out to people she thinks they’ll look nice on,” she says, and Caleb doesn’t miss the way her voice softens a little when she says Beau’s name.

“How do they manage to always find drugs?” Caleb asks, and Yasha shrugs.

“He has his ways.”

“ _Gott_ ,” Caleb mutters to himself, and looks back down to the tiefling in his lap.

Mollymauk smiles up at him.

“Hi, Caleb,” he says, and Caleb doesn’t think he’s ever heard Molly sound so soft.

“ _Hallo_ ,” he replies, and sighs again. Molly’s face falls instantly.

“Are you sad?” he says, sounding noticeably distressed, “You sighed and it sounded sad. Are you sad?”

“No,” Caleb says quickly, settling his spare hand in Molly’s hair and starting to stroke his fingers through it. “No, _liebling_ , I’m fine.” Beneath his hand Molly seems to relax a little, settling back into Caleb’s lap and shutting his eyes.

“You’re not sad?” he asks.

“No,” Caleb confirms, “I’m not sad, Molly.”

“Good,” Molly says, “You’re not allowed to be sad; I’m officially banning it. I’m banning you being sad and I’m also banning anyone from _making_ you sad, because that’s not allowed anymore.”

Caleb gives a wry smile that Molly, eyes still shut, doesn’t see. “Are you going to ban me?” he teases, and keeps his voice light enough to mask the truth beneath those words.

He doesn’t know why he tries. Molly knows the truth anyway. He knows Caleb well enough, has time and time again had to remind Caleb in soft, calm words that he’s allowed to want – and to have – nice things, despite what he may tell himself. He’s seen and heard the worries and fears that plague Caleb’s mind, has felt the self-loathing nestled deep within it, and all he’s done in response is reinforce his efforts to prove Caleb’s insecurities absolutely wrong.

“ _Yes_ ,” Molly replies and he sits up, turns around in Caleb’s lap so that he’s straddling him. He reaches out, picks up Caleb’s book and places it to the side – after carefully bookmarking it with the little ribbon attached to the spine – and then places his hands on either side of Caleb’s head, staring directly into his eyes. “You’re not allowed to make yourself sad anymore, Caleb. It’s banned.”

“Banned on whose orders?”

“On _mine_. I’m your boyfriend, and you can’t argue with your boyfriend.”

Caleb smiles, just a little, and sees Yasha quietly leave the room from the corner of his eye. “Is that also banned?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Molly replies emphatically, and Caleb’s smile grows. “Well- I mean- alright, so maybe not _banned_. I’m not going to stop you from talking or anything like that. But,” he continues, jabbing a finger into Caleb’s chest, “You are _not_ allowed to argue with me about the self-care and self-love and self-hate stuff, alright? I’m not allowing that. You’re going to listen to me about all of that stuff and you’re going to take it on board and you’ll feel better about it all afterwards because you are my boyfriend and I care about you and I want you to feel good about yourself because you _should_ feel good about yourself because you are-“ he pauses, takes a breath, and then continues, “-because you are wonderful and clever and really quite _stunningly_ attractive and I want you to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

“And what way is that?” Caleb asks. He knows he’s pushing, knows that he has no cause, no _right_ to seek out affection and adoration that he simply does not deserve, but he can’t help himself – Molly is so soft and earnest and open, his eyes glowing ember-red in the sunlight and, for a moment, Caleb lets himself think that, just maybe, he can have this.

That just this once, he can listen to Molly and try to let himself believe everything he says.

“What way do I make you feel?” he asks quietly, and Molly just smiles, leans in to press a kiss to Caleb’s cheek, and shifts back down to lie in his lap again before he replies.

“Happy,” he says simply, and Caleb blinks at the open affection in his voice. “You make me really, really happy, Caleb. I want you to make you feel happy because you deserve to feel happy too.”

Caleb gives a wry, humourless smile. “I’m not so sure about that,” he says quietly, and Molly frowns.

“Why not?”

“I have- I have done things I am not proud of, Mollymauk.”

“So?”

“I am not a-“

“If you say you’re not a good man I’m going to have to poke you,” Molly says, and Caleb smiles again. “What did I just say was banned, Caleb?”

Caleb moves a hand to Molly’s head, running his fingers through strands of dark hair. “Making myself sad,” he replies quietly, and Molly nods beneath his fingers.

“And what else?”

“Arguing with my boyfriend about this.”

“And who is your boyfriend?”

“…You are.”

“That’s right,” Molly says and he reaches up, takes Caleb’s free hand and presses a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist, directly above his pulse, before letting go of it. “I’m your boyfriend, Caleb, and you are mine. And today you’re not being sad, and you’re not being maudlin – you’re going to let me love on you and coddle you and generally be all affectionate in your general direction so that you can feel as good as I do, and it’s going to be _great_.”

Caleb smiles, just a little. “You’ve done more cuddling than coddling so far,” he says, and Molly, caught off-guard, drops Caleb’s hand and gives a short laugh, sharp and bright.

“Was that a joke?” he asks.

_Of course it was_. “No.”

Molly grins wider. “You’re terrible,” he says, his voice achingly fond, and he lifts a hand, waving it around in the air a little as he wiggles his fingers before he looks up and over at Caleb. “Caleb,” he says, eyes shining, “Can I hold your hand?”

Caleb doesn’t reply, not with words – he just lifts his hand that isn’t running through Molly’s hair and places it gently in Molly’s still-raised hand, tangling their fingers together. Molly smiles instantly, his gaze turning to their conjoined hands, and he lifts his own hand a little higher, turning them this way and that as if watching the play of sunlight across their tendons and knuckles.

“Do you ever think,” he says, suddenly quiet and calm, “About what it would be like if we shared a circulatory system?”

Caleb blinks and frowns. This is a change in topic; to say it’s a jump from the previous path of the conversation would be an understatement and a half. “… _Was_?”

“Look,” Molly says and he sits up a little, lifts their hands higher so that Caleb can see the way the sunlight seems to make their hands glow faintly red from within, purple and pale skin side by side. “Do you see it?”

Caleb’s not sure what he’s meant to be seeing.

“See what, Molly?”

“ _Look_ ,” Molly says again and he sits up entirely this time, swinging himself up from Caleb’s lap to lean heavily against his side instead, their hands still held up in the beam of sunlight. “It’s like we share blood.”

It is… well, Caleb can safely say that’s it not something he’s ever heard anyone say before, much less in a way that would imply it to be some great romantic revelation. Molly’s voice is gentle and soft and he’s still gazing at their joined hands like he’s enraptured by them, like he could discover every secret about truth and beauty and life somewhere within their capillaries, locked up in blood and salt and iron. He turns their hands, shifting a bit, and Caleb reaches out to wrap his free arm around Molly’s waist almost without thinking about it.

“It’s like we share blood,” Molly says again, quieter, “Wouldn’t that be pretty?”

Caleb’s really not too sure about that.

“It would- it would be quite medically unsafe, Mollymauk,” he says with a frown, and Molly huffs out a sigh and rolls his eyes.

“That’s not the point,” he replies, “It’s- it’s like- just _look_ , Caleb.”

“I am looking.”

Molly lifts their hands again, and squeezes Caleb’s fingers between his own. “It’s like we’re one and the same,” he says, calm and certain like he’s delivering some obvious truth, and Caleb looks at their hands in the stream of sunlight and pauses.

For the space of a moment, he thinks he sees it.

With the sunlight shining behind their hands the blood within them seems to _glow_ in places, soft and rich and shimmering to gold where their fingers press together. Caleb can just faintly see the lines of their veins, the scattered webs of their capillaries, and even with their different skin tones it becomes, for a moment, impossible to tell where the map of his own veins ends and Molly’s begins, as if somewhere beneath the skin their bodies had twisted and shifted together in some indescribable, unspeakable way.

It’s impossible, and unrealistic.

Despite it, he cannot help but find it strangely endearing.

“You become very poetic when you’re high,” Caleb says quietly, and Molly turns and beams at him, dropping their hands back down to their sides.

“I know,” he says, “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly unusual.”

“Do you like it?”

“I am- I’m not sure. It is very different.”

“Good different or bad different?”

Caleb frowns. “Just different,” he repeats, “But it is- it is not bad.” He pauses, and sees Molly looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to continue. “It is still you,” he adds quietly, “And I like you, Molly. I like you a lot.”

Molly smiles and leans in to kiss him. “I like you too,” he says and stretches up a little, pressing another kiss to Caleb’s nose, and gives a poorly-stifled giggle at the bemused look that Caleb can feel cross his face for a second. “You’re really very marvellous, love.”

“I’m not-“

“What did I say, Caleb?”

“…No putting myself down.”

“Exactly,” Molly says, and he kisses Caleb again. The hand that’s not holding Caleb’s comes to settle on Caleb’s face, cupping his cheek, and Caleb gives a soft sigh against Molly’s lips and tilts his head into the contact, his eyes fluttering shut.

_I love you_ , he thinks, and does not say. It is an absent thought, brief and fleeting, and one that Caleb is not yet nearly brave enough to voice aloud. He has no way of knowing if it will be reciprocated. He has no way of knowing if it will break this wonderful, careful thing that has grown between them, and he is not willing to risk it. Molly means too much to him for Caleb to risk ruining anything, especially now, when they are so close and so good and so… settled. So balanced. He does not want to break that. Not now, and not ever.

So he thinks the words, and bites his tongue, and turns his head to press a kiss to Molly’s palm. He lifts his hand, laying it over Molly’s on his face, and when he opens his eyes it is to see Molly, beautiful and resplendent in the sunlight, lifting their joined hands back up until they are illuminated and glowing once again, the sunlight painting them amber and ruby and gilding Molly’s lavender skin in gold.

It’s beautiful. Molly is beautiful. Molly is beautiful and for a moment all Caleb can do is look at him, watching the quiet contentment in his eyes as he turns their hands this way and that. The sunlight is warm and Molly is warm and his hand is gentle around Caleb’s own, and Caleb thinks that if he could bottle this moment and keep it on him he would never need a healing potion again.

He sighs softly, completely content, and the world is sunlight and gold and lavender.

“I love you,” Molly says softly and suddenly, and Caleb turns his head and blinks at him. Molly continues to look at their joined hands, running his thumb across the dips and ridges of Caleb’s knuckles, and doesn’t seem to realise that with those three words he just upended Caleb’s entire world.

There is no way that Caleb can focus on the warmth of Molly’s skin against his own now.

Molly is not supposed to love Caleb. _No one_ is supposed to love Caleb – Caleb is supposed to be small and quiet and filthy and unseen and unnoticed, the lonely wizard hiding in a corner because the weight of too many eyes on him makes his palms start to sweat and his heart start to race. He is supposed to be some terrible thing, some awful creature that has done so many wrongs and broken so many good things that he is no longer deserving of any softness or kindness or love.

He is not supposed to have Molly’s love, but it appears he has it all the same.

He cannot have it. He _cannot_ have it. It is not his to have and to hold – Molly is- he’s _Molly._ He’s good and he’s kind and he cares, cares about Caleb and cares about the party and cares about other people, and he is chaotic and loud and _wonderful_ for it, so wholly unashamed of who he is, of _what_ he is, that Caleb can only ever look and stare and wish he could be the same. Caleb is none of that. Caleb has none of that open goodness left in him.

Caleb will never be able to hold Molly’s love in his hands without muddying it. He longs for it, craves it, wants it with all his heart, but he has gone too long to let himself have something as beautiful as this without thinking about the inevitable future when Molly realises the mistake that he has made.

It is better to rebuff it now than get his heart broken later when Molly decides that Caleb is not worth the hassle he causes.

“Molly,” Caleb says quietly, quashing down on the hope growing in his chest, “Molly, you’re- you’re high.”

“So?”

“You don’t mean-“

“You think that just because I’m high I don’t mean it?” Molly asks, cutting Caleb off, and Caleb gives a small nod. He can’t look at Molly. He can’t meet his gaze. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Caleb. High or otherwise.”

“But-“

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly says, turning to look at him, and Caleb falls silent. “Believe me, love. Please.”

He wishes he could, but he can’t. He has done too much, has _ruined_ too much, and his mind will not let him forget it. If there ever was a version of Caleb that was deserving of love, that was deserving of _Molly’s_ love, that version no longer exists. There is only this Caleb, the current Caleb, and he has seen too much and done too much and destroyed too much to be deserving of anything as bright and beautiful as Mollymauk.

“You don’t mean it,” he whispers again, more to himself than to Molly, and Molly smiles soft and sweet and sad and leans in to kiss him gently.

“I do,” he says quietly, “I’ve been meaning it for a while, I just haven’t said it yet. I didn’t want to scare you off or anything.”

“Molly…” Caleb whispers. “I- you- you could never scare me, _liebling_.” Not about this. Not ever. Terrifying as it is, undeserved as it is, Caleb is still a greedy and cowardly man. He will hold onto this bright and beautiful thing for as long as he can.

He twitches the corner of his lips in the faintest attempt at a smile, and Molly smiles back at him.

“So I can say it?” he asks, and Caleb nods again. From the corner of his eye he sees Molly’s smile widen. “Caleb,” Molly murmurs and he sways forwards in Caleb’s lap, pressing their foreheads together as his eyes flutter shut. “I love you.” His thumb brushes small, absent circles against the skin of Caleb’s waist, the contact light and warm and sparking against Caleb’s skin like a star. “I love you.” Molly tilts his head, pressing a kiss to Caleb’s temple. “I love you.” Another kiss. “I love you.” Another.

Caleb doesn’t think he can speak. He feels choked, emotions welling heavy in his eyes and in his throat. He knew prior to this that Molly cared about him, knew that Molly enjoyed his company, knew that he liked Molly and that Molly liked him back and gave no indication of being remotely bored or tired of Caleb despite all of Caleb’s issues, but this is… different. This is Molly laid bare, the drugs in his system lowering what few walls he has left around Caleb. This is all of Molly’s love and adoration and affection shining through, clear in his voice and in his kisses and in the way his hands are still so, so gentle where they rest against Caleb’s hips, never grasping or tugging but instead just accepting whatever Caleb is willing to give. Whatever Caleb is comfortable with giving.

“Molly,” he says eventually, and his voice is little more than a whisper. “Molly, I-“

“You don’t have to say it back,” Molly says quietly, his lips still pressed to Caleb’s forehead. “Not if you don’t want to. Not if you can’t. It’s okay, love.” He leans back a bit, presses a quick kiss to Caleb’s lips, and opens his eyes to smile at him. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says, “Whenever that is. There’s no rush.”

Caleb thinks his heart might burst.

Molly knows him so well; he practically knows him better than Caleb knows himself at this point. He knows about Caleb’s weaknesses and flaws and insecurities, knows how he struggles both with recognising other people’s emotions and acting on his own, and he has never once cared. He has never once told Caleb to be more sensitive, has never once berated Caleb for keeping himself so firmly under lock and key. He has only ever been patient and understanding and accepting and even now, even when this is something big and _important_ , he doesn’t push for Caleb to reciprocate. This is meant to be some big moment, is meant to be some big, dramatic moment when they both confess their undying love at the same time and instead here Molly is, opening himself up and offering his heart to Caleb with no worries about if the action might be returned or not. There’s no worry on his face, no stress or anxiety – Caleb knows that is, in part, due to the drugs that Molly has taken, but he knows Molly well enough to know that it goes beyond that. There’s no worry on Molly’s face because Molly isn’t worried.

Because Molly loves Caleb.

Because Molly trusts him.

It is a heady thing, to have the trust and heart of Mollymauk Tealeaf in his hands.

“ _Liebling_ ,” Caleb whispers and his throat is dry, voice hoarse and wavering. He wants to say something, _has_ to say something, but he doesn’t know how to. This is- it’s too _big_ , is too big for this moment and is too big for his heart and he doesn’t know what to do. He swallows, and tries again.  “Molly, I-“ He cuts himself off almost immediately, glancing away. He can’t look at Molly, not right now – eye contact isn’t his favourite thing at the best of times and it feels far too open right now, feels too open and too _intense_ and he thinks that if he keeps looking at Molly he might start crying because Molly loves him and doesn’t expect or ask anything of him in return.

Because Molly loves him, and Caleb loves Molly too.

Gods help him, but he loves Molly with everything that he has.

Molly is too good for him; he expects nothing, asks for nothing, wants only what Caleb is entirely willing to give and it is humbling. Caleb knows, without any shadow of a doubt, that if he were to turn to Molly today or tomorrow or any day from now and tell Molly that he no longer wanted Molly to kiss him, that he no longer wanted Molly to touch him, that he no longer wanted to be with Molly or speak with Molly or interact with Molly in any way that Molly would accept it without question. That Molly would be soft and gentle and kind and respect every one of Caleb’s wishes with no cares for his own feelings.

Caleb knows that he could break Molly’s heart if he so wished, and that Molly would let him.

He doesn’t. He _couldn’t_.

“I love you too,” Caleb whispers. The words are so quiet they do not leave the tiny self-contained bubble that is Molly and Caleb, but they’re loud enough; Molly’s face, already soft and open and content seems to soften more the moment he hears the three little words, his lips twitching into the gentlest and most loving smile Caleb has ever seen on him.

“Caleb,” he says, his voice just as quiet as Caleb’s was, and for the first time since they met Caleb thinks he sees Molly lost for words. “Caleb, I-“

“I love you,” Caleb says again. His voice is a little stronger this time, louder and more certain, because he _is_ certain. He loves Molly. He loves Molly with all his heart. “I love you, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

There are no words, no warnings; Molly simply surges forward to press his lips to Caleb’s, their noses bumping for a moment before they shift and resettle and find their balancing point. The kiss is messy and uncoordinated but somehow all the better for it – it is honest and open and so heartbreakingly sweet that Caleb knows that if he weren’t crying already, the tears running slow and silent down his face, then he would now.

“I love you,” Molly murmurs and he settles his hands on either side of Caleb’s face, runs his thumbs against the short stubble growing there and kisses him again. “Gods, Caleb, I love you so much.”

“ _Liebling_ ,” Caleb whispers and he wraps his arms around Molly’s waist and back, holds him close and tight like he’s afraid he might vanish. “I’m- _Molly_.”

“I love you,” Molly says again. He’s laughing a little, soft and quiet like he can’t quite believe it, and when he kisses Caleb again he presses his laughter against the curve of Caleb’s mouth, his body shaking gently beneath Caleb’s hands. “Oh, my- darling…”

Caleb can’t speak – he just kisses Molly, kisses him again, and then breaks away from the kiss only so that he can press his forehead to Molly’s neck, his lips finding Molly’s pulse and pressing a single kiss to it before he lets out a sigh and pulls Molly impossibly closer. For all that Caleb really truly _adores_ kissing Molly, more than anything right now he simply wants to hold him, and so he does. He presses his palms flat to Molly’s back, feels the solid and sure muscle beneath them, and thinks to himself, _I love this man with all that I have_.

“Caleb,” Molly murmurs, “Caleb, darling…” Caleb feels Molly shifting against him, and soon there’s the press of a clawed finger beneath his chin as Molly gently tilts his head up, making a split second of eye contact before Caleb flits his gaze away. He knows that eye contact is something he still has to work on but it seems that Molly doesn’t mind – he never has, and Caleb loves him for it more than he knows. “Caleb,” Molly says again, and the word comes out more like a sigh. He sways a little in Caleb’s lap and then leans forwards to press their foreheads together, his eyes fluttering shut as one of his hands comes to a rest above Caleb’s heart. “Lie down with me,” he says softly, and Caleb frowns.

“It is- it is not yet even evening, Mollymauk.”

“I know,” Molly replies, “We don’t have to go to sleep whenever we go to bed, y’know.”

“I don’t-“

“I wasn’t talking about sex either, Caleb. I just meant that beds are comfortable and warm and frankly I’d really, _really_ like to cuddle you right now.”

Oh.

Somehow, it both is and isn’t what Caleb is expecting. He knows that Molly is extremely affectionate by nature, knows that he’s prone to passing out forehead kisses to Yasha and Nott and Caleb and every other member of their party when it seems like they may need one, and Molly has never once before turned down any of Caleb’s requests, verbal or otherwise, for affection, but it still catches Caleb somewhat by surprise to hear Molly outright _ask_ for affection. Normally it’s the other way around, with Caleb drawing his courage together over the course of several minutes or hours or however long it takes before quietly asking Molly for something, or Molly will offer Caleb something that Caleb will almost always accept, but Molly himself almost never asks for anything. He’s so very careful about Caleb’s boundaries and taking everything at Caleb’s pace and listening to Caleb’s wants that Caleb thinks, sometimes, that Molly might forget that he has wants of his own.

And it seems that, right now, all Molly wants to do is cuddle.

Caleb can handle that. Caleb can _definitely_ handle that.

“Alright,” he says, and smiles a little, “I suppose I can deal with that.”

Molly grins at him. “ _Fantastic_ ,” he says, and before Caleb can react Molly reaches out, grabs his shoulders, and pulls him over sideways. The resulting fall is ungainly and graceless and Caleb lands on the bed in a tangle of limbs with Molly, one hand caught a little awkwardly beneath his chest before he shifts around and extracts himself from the tiefling. Molly only giggles beneath him, doing nothing to help Caleb free himself – if anything he does the opposite, the tip of his tail starting to curl around Caleb’s calf, but there’s no pressure to it, no hint of any restraining tightness, and it doesn’t take long for Caleb to disentangle himself and half-lie across the bed from Molly, propping himself up on his elbow.

“How do you-“ he begins but Molly is already moving, shifting up the bed to rest his head on the pillow before beckoning for Caleb to join him. Caleb goes immediately to him, lying down so they’re side by side, and the moment he does Molly rolls over onto his side and reaches back to grab one of Caleb’s hands and tug it around his chest, repositioning them until Caleb’s curled around his back, warm and close and perfect. Caleb can feel Molly’s spine shifting against his chest with every breath, can feel the way his ribcage expands beneath his hand with every inhale. Molly’s shirt is soft and silky-fine and when Caleb shifts his hand a little bit he can feel the pattern of raised silver scars beneath his palm. He trails his fingers over them, brushing them back and forth across the criss-crossing marks.

“Is this ok?” he murmurs softly. He’s touched Molly’s scars before but never really like this; never with intent and curiosity mingled together. He knows that Molly isn’t ashamed of them but at the same this feels… different. Delicate, almost. For all they have come to know each other inside and out, Caleb still feels like he is always learning.

It is a good thing, then, that he is such a keen student.

“Mm,” Molly hums and he nods a little, his horns brushing against the pillow. In the still silence of their room the jewellery on his horns sings. “Yeah, you can keep doing that. Feels nice.”

“It does?”

“Mm, sure. I always like your hands on me.”

Caleb rolls his eyes at the flirtatious smile he can hear in Molly’s voice, but he doesn’t stop trailing his fingers. He brushes them across the open expanse of Molly’s chest, following the path from one scar to another, and then starts running along the arc of his collarbone. It’s solid beneath his fingers, warm to the touch and faintly curving, and for a moment Caleb gives up on following his scars to trace his collarbone instead; it’s only when he’s followed it all the way to Molly’s shoulder and back again that he returns to the scars beneath his fingertips, mapping the constellations they cut across Molly’s chest.

“I want to hold your hand again,” Molly murmurs when Caleb is half way through committing the exact pattern of his scars to memory, and Caleb’s fingers slow to a stop. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Caleb replies immediately, and he’s about to move his hand to find Molly’s when Molly beats him to it – he pats around in the vague vicinity of his chest for a while before finding Caleb’s hand and taking it, twining their fingers together and tugging Caleb’s arm closer around his body. He shuffles for a moment, somehow managing to press them even closer together, and then he lets out a content sigh and Caleb feels Molly’s entire body relax against him.

“Are you comfortable?” Caleb asks quietly and Molly hums in response, lifts up their joined hands and presses a kiss to Caleb’s knuckles. Caleb can feel the press of Molly’s lips and the burst of warmth it causes feels almost like his own magic settling close and bright beneath the surface of his skin

“Mhmm,” Molly murmurs, “Very, love.”

“Good,” Caleb mumbles and he tilts his head, shifts enough to close the hairs-breadth between them and presses his lips to the nape of Mollymauk’s neck. “Good.”

 “How about you? Are you comfortable?”

“I am,” Caleb says and he kisses Molly again, relishing in the warmth of his skin beneath his lips, beneath his hand.

For a few moments, there is no sound other than that of their breathing.

“Tell you what,” Molly says suddenly, “I’ve just had an idea.”

“Mm?”

“Yeah,” Molly says, “Hold on, this is- I want to- give me a moment…” He trails off and shuffles around on the bed for a moment, releasing Caleb’s hand and inching forwards slightly. Caleb frowns, shivering a little at the cool air that washes against his chest where Molly once was, but barely a second later Molly rolls over so that they’re face to face and smiles at Caleb all soft and loving and gentle, and Caleb forgets the cold entirely.  

“This is better,” Molly whispers and Caleb smiles and leans in to press a swift kiss to Molly’s lips.

“It is,” Caleb agrees, “I can see you like this.”

“Do you like seeing me?”

“Always, _Schatz._ ”

“What does that word mean? _Skatz_?”

Molly’s accent is atrocious, and Caleb feels his already fond smile widen further.

“ _Schatz_ ,” he corrects, “It means treasure.”

“Treasure,” Molly hums, “I like that. Kind of matches all my jewellery, doesn’t it?”

It’s not an unreasonable observation, Caleb must admit. “It does,” he agrees, “But it is- in this context, it means less of a physical treasure and more of a- of a-” He stammers for a few moments and then trails off, frowning slightly. He doesn’t know how best to translate all the meaning behind _Schatz_ to Molly, and it annoys him more than he thought it would.

But, thankfully, it seems he doesn’t need to.

“It’s alright,” Molly says quietly and he gives a short laugh, stroking his thumb across the back of Caleb’s hand beneath the covers. “I know what you mean, sweetheart. You’re my _skatz_ too.” Caleb winces a little, more for show than for any other reason, and Molly laughs again. “Is my accent really that bad?”

“It is,” Caleb admits, “It’s atrocious.”

“You should teach me some Zemnian, then. See if we can make it any better. I’m a fast learner.” Molly grins, and Caleb feels his chest grow warm.

“Alright,” he says, “What would you like to learn?”

“Anything. I don’t mind.”

Caleb knows exactly what he wants to teach Molly. “How about we start with something simple? A phrase?”

Molly nods a little, careful not to catch his horns on the pillow. “A phrase,” he muses, “Sure, why not? What phrase?”

“ _Ich liebe dich_.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that. It sounds nice. What does it mean?”

Caleb smiles and kisses Molly again, swift and fleeting. “It means _I love you_ ,” he says, and Molly smiles back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started working on this before episode 16, so I had no idea what the drugs would actually do. As always thanks go to my wonderful beta [Naluh](http://morstan.tumblr.com/) for catching all my mistakes in this chapter and generally cheering me on x  
> If you have any prompts or requests for me please do send me a message over at my [tumblr](https://crunchywrites.tumblr.com/) ^-^


End file.
